


Donuts

by wacklit



Series: Breaking up is hard to do [2]
Category: DCU
Genre: Face-Fucking, Food Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-04 04:51:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10983744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wacklit/pseuds/wacklit
Summary: Tim isn't hungry, donuts or otherwise.





	Donuts

Tim wakes up on the couch, not unlike the past few nights. He blinks at the blanket wrapped around him and takes a moment to inspect it. It’s the one from his bedroom.

He throws it off of him as he jumps off the couch. He’s considering burning it when the doorbell rings again. Tim scrubs at his face groggily as he makes for the door.

Dick’s back, alone now except for a box of donuts and a couple cups of coffee, adamant on being let inside. Tim grips at the door again and is more than ready to deny him this time, but the smell of coffee in the morning is too tempting.

Tim steps aside and lets Dick in.

“Good to see our efforts of keeping you warm last night were appreciated.” Dick says, eyeing the blanket on the floor.

Tim grabs the cups of coffee and takes generous tugs from both, ignoring him.

“But I couldn’t help but notice you didn’t have anything healthy to eat in here. When’s the last time you had some real breakfast?”

“Thank you for raiding my kitchen.” Tim says. “But I’m not sure donuts count as part of a balanced breakfast.”

“Yeah, neither does anything in that fridge.” Dick says. Tim licks his lips, he ended up giving his fried rice to his brothers yesterday, thus skipping dinner for a third night in a row. He was ready to eat the entire dozen. Dick flips open the top and suddenly any kind thoughts Tim had towards him disappear along with his appetite.

Glazed Blueberry Cake.

He couldn’t believe his eyes. Where were the pink frosted sprinkled donuts from Dunkin’? Where was the bag of generic mini powdered donuts from the gas station? Where were the stale-ass Lucky Charms donuts from that indie bakery uptown? This was Dick fickle-bold-quirky Grayson for Christ’s sake. Why the hell was there a box of Krispy Kreme blueberry donuts on Tim’s coffee table? Why was Tim currently staring at Kon’s favorite flavor?

“What’s wrong?” Dick asks, picking one out for himself and taking a bite.

Tim suddenly hates every single ugly blueberry, every single reminder of Kon, on the donuts. He watches Dick wearily; he was eating it wrong. Tim never ate the donuts himself, Kon always fed them to him.

Kon used to slip his finger through the hole and push it into Tim’s mouth. He’d smear the chewed donut around Tim’s gums and teeth and Tim would suck his finger clean until he put something else in Tim’s mouth.

He’d never cared for the flavor before. Didn’t dislike it, just preferred chocolate glazed or strawberry filled. But Kon insisted he try it, said it’s almost as good as Martha’s. Tim refused until Kon fed it to him, ringed the donut around his cock and fucked Tim’s mouth with it. It was something like an aphrodisiac now. Tim locks his knees as he fights the Pavlovian urge to bend them.

“You couldn’t get, like… a variety?” Tim asks, swallowing the excess saliva down his constricting throat.

“But these are fresh baked, see?” Dick says, splitting the donut in half. He brings it closer to Tim’s face so he can see— and _smell_ — the fading curl of smoke emanating from it. The donut looks strange without Kon’s dick through it. He feels his gag reflex retract as it’s conditioned to do and it makes him want to vomit.

Tim slaps it away from his face before he actually does. Dick pulls his hand back and looks at his crumbled donut on the floor. Tim doesn’t say anything, just takes a step back and focuses on getting his breathing back to normal.

Dick’s eyes go from slightly vexed at the donut to confused at Tim. “Jeez, Tim, I can go get a different flavor.”

Tim rolls his eyes, but only when they’re covered by his hand. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. He doesn't need Dick's donuts or Jason's blanket rubbing Kon in his face like that. He doesn't need help keeping himself fed or warm.

“It’s fine. I wasn’t hungry anyway.” He says, moving to open the front door for Dick to kindly get the fuck out. Dick stares at him like he did last night, apologetic and pitiful. If he tries to put his hands on him again, Tim thinks he might actually break his arm.

“Okay,” Dick says slowly, “I’ll just take these with me then.”

“Call if you need anything.” Dick offers.

Tim hums before slamming the door shut.

* * *

Two weeks go by and Tim doesn’t talk to Dick or Jason. Partly because he’s been busy, mostly because he’s busy actively avoiding them.

It’s raining outside and the mood has never been better to lay in the living room with all the lights off and listen to music over the thunder. There’s something soothing about storms, something homey and distinctly Gotham that comforts him.

He’s making a mental note to replace his current windows with new ones that don’t open more than half a foot, like the ones in Vegas, as he watches Jason help pull Roy out of the rain like they’re actually welcome inside.

Tim sits up on the couch to glare at Jason, who doesn’t close the window and folds his arms.

“Hi Tim,” Roy says, drawing his attention away.

“Hey,” he replies dryly and looks back at Jason, “What’s going on?”

Jason shrugs nonchalantly, like there doesn’t need to be a reason to invade Tim’s home with Roy. They’re both dressed in civvies and Tim is in his underwear. They’re letting all the cold in and tracking mud and water on Tim’s carpet. Roy has enough sense to notice Tim hugging himself and close the window.

“Nothing much. Dick bought Outlast 2, and you know his pussy-ass can’t play without at least five other people in the room. Duke and Damian are already at the Manor, me and Roy are heading out now, and West said he’d bring his cousin along if you came.”

Tim does a silent recount and wonders why the hell they need him there. Wally talks enough for three people already. His brain pounds with the beginning of a migraine as he tries not to imagine what him and Bart would be like in the same room. But he does. He knows exactly how the night’s going to go down: Dick’s going to pass the controller ten minutes into the game, Roy’s going to call him out for being a bitch and then pass the remote five minutes later, and Jason’s going to fight with Wally over who’s turn it is, Damian’s not even going to be there, Duke’s going to endure this alone and silently thank God he isn’t friends with any of those people. Nobody would be able to hear anything over everyone’s arguing and Jason’s eventually going to threaten to kneecap Wally before storming out of the Manor.

“So,” Jason says, “You coming?”

Tim frowns as he can’t come up with one good enough reason to go. Even if he did, Bart would just ask obliviously how Kon was and where Kon was and why Kon wasn’t allowed in the Manor and Bruce might overhear and then he’d be forced to fess up about their break up in a suddenly awkward room full of unconcerned straight guys. Sheepish neck rubbing and tense throat clearing and averted eye contact and he doesn’t need it.

“I’m good,” he says, switching his attention back to his music.

“Tim,”

Tim winces at the tone but doesn’t look up. “What?”

Jason yanks the earbuds out of him _rudely_ and flings them, along with Tim’s connected phone, off to a corner of the living room. And if that crack Tim heard is his screen, he’s going to make him pay for a replacement. Jason reaches down and forces Tim’s chin up. “Seriously, come over. Alfred misses you,”

Tim swallows down a laugh. Jason, _Jason_ was telling him to go to the Manor. When did his life get so twisted? He knows what he means by Alfred missing him. That Bruce misses him and Duke and Selina and probably Damian do, too. He’s been blanking them for almost a month now and ignoring their dinner invites. Not because he doesn’t want to see them, he just isn’t hungry anymore. And he doesn't want to explain _why_ he isn’t hungry anymore, because he doesn’t want other people knowing about his recently terminated relationship of two years.

“I don’t want to.”

“What about your friend?” Roy asks, and he’d _better_ be referring to Bart because if Tim finds out Jason and Dick have told other people about his breakup, he just might kill them. Tim then scolds himself for having such little faith in his brothers, he told them he and Kon broke up in complete confidence because he knows they wouldn't say a word.

“Trust me, I’m doing you all a favor.” Tim says, pulling himself off the couch and walking away. He can feel the weight of their eyes follow him around and it makes each step he takes heavier.

“Then clean this place up,”

Tim stops in the middle of the dark hall and looks over his shoulder. “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” Jason says, kicking something gray towards him. Tim winces down at the moldy, broken donut and curses himself for telling the housecleaner to take the week off because he just wanted to be alone. “If you’re just gonna hole yourself up in here all day, you might as well keep it clean.”

Tim wants to turn right around and tell him to fuck off, that it’s his house and if he doesn’t like it here then he can leave and stay hell out.

“Okay,” he says instead and waves them off, “Bye now.”

The spike of adrenaline he momentarily had dies as the fight goes out of him. His joints ache as he walks down the hall. This entire conversation left him exhausted. He’s too tired to fight, too drained for anything right now. He just wants to be alone. Can’t they see that?

He slips into the guestroom and stays there long after they leave.

**Author's Note:**

> tell me what you think?


End file.
